Month: April 2019

I feel like every day is a new opportunity to write on something I hate about summer. Today, I present to you, the clothing dilemma. Every single morning, I am required to wear pants of some kind. I generalize, but essentially, my University has a mandate that we must not showcase our ashleel ankles, or any part above them. Arms are okay. Because apparently arms do not create any issues in society. I wonder if anybody has been slapped. Arms have the potential to cause a lot of damage. Yet we don’t cover them. You’ve got to ask yourself why, I think. Anyway, coming back to the thick of things – the clothing dilemma is something I experience every morning. After bathing, as I put on these pants, and as I fasten my belt, all I can think about is how long the Sun must shine today before I can expose my shins to the world. This is because all I want to do is wear shorts.

In other news, in an attempt to fulfill my ambitions of making music again, I tried to install some software and accidentally got some adware onto my system. I’ve got rid of most of it, thanks to a timely installation of anti-virus software. But God, is adware irritating. I guess I got too excited last night. This is my punishment.

Today I’ve discovered that my mother has once again begun to write poetry – and I’m really happy about this. See, my mother has the gift of the gab. Her storytelling ability and her creativity is something that runs in her blood. If she’s free, it’s pretty much a guarantee that she’ll start something to immerse herself into creatively. But she hasn’t written poetry for a very long time, so it’s absolutely lovely to see her back in the thick of things.

The first time I read something my mother had written – properly, was when I spotted this recipe book that she had at home. With red thick binding, the recipe book has “Lekha” on the cover, and is in such good condition that none of the pages are torn, although they’re incredibly faded. They contain some ridiculously mouth-watering recipes, and the instructions are written to make you imagine what you’re going to eat, and visualize it. I ended up hungry every time I read that book.

My mum’s poetry is something I’m looking forward to reading. More than anything because she’s really good at rhyming words. And honestly, that’s the most fun to read.

Today, somebody asked me why I used exclamation marks in the subject of my e-mails, because they received an email from me (through one of the University webmail accounts that I manage) which ended with an exclamation mark in the title.

I laughed. Initially, I didn’t think this was a serious question at all.

But the person didn’t budge.

I hadn’t really thought about it. It was evident, however, that there was genuine curiousity behind how I could compose a seemingly “official” e-mail with an exclamation mark. So I attempted to explain the funda behind this act with the first piece of logic that came to my mind.

If I remember accurately, what I explained was that I felt a duty to make people open the e-mails I send out to them. See, if I’m putting effort into writing something, it’ll be nice if some people atleast open the e-mail. It’s pretty clear that individuals interested in the subject-matter will open it. But if someone who has absolutely no interest in the title opens it because of a catchy title or an exclamation mark I’ve used, who am I to stop that, honestly.

Might as well exploit the way the human brain responds to exclamation marks.

This ridiculously well-researched article takes a look at how exclamation marks work and how many you need to seem genuinely enthusiastic about something.

In conclusion, I think it’s safe to say that I’m the world’s worst click-baiter.

Temperatures in Gujarat have gone up ridiculously quickly. Normally I really like the heat because the temperature only hits unbearable levels in May, and it’s a refreshing change because it’s very energizing, in a sense. In summer, I find my laziness to be minimized because I don’t feel like cuddling up and sleeping on my bed. I prefer being indoors, yes, but I’m okay staying up on my chair and doing work.

Also, heat means more excuses to eat ice-cream and drink tender coconut water and consume other cool beverages. I like that too.

Except, Gujarat decided to experience a heat wave before it’s gradual rise in temperatures. Which means that the temperature here hit peaks even before “summer” weather actually started. Which is draining.

Anyway, I’ll be out of here in a bit, so it’s futile complaining about the weather.

Today, I spent some time thinking about how I used to pack my bag as a child. Every single night before school. We had textbooks and notebooks for every single subject, and I remember my parents cultivating this habit of ensuring my bag was packed every night before I went to sleep. It involved a couple of things, usually done in sequence. First was taking everything out of my bag. Then I had to look at the time-table and arrange all the books I needed for the next day. And then I had to arrange these in height order and place them in my bag – with labels facing in front.

After that I had to take my pencilbox and ensure that every pencil was sharpened and I had all the tools I needed to make sure that my day would go on without a hitch. The last part of this, when I was younger, involved showing my parents my Diary – so they could check that there were no important Circulars or Notifications I had forgotten to share with them.

It was only after this exercise that I was allowed to sleep.

Eventually though, as subjects reduced, I stopped caring so much about having a packed bag. Instead, I became lazy, and ensured that I had every book, every single day. This was fuelled primarily by my laziness. However, a large contributing factor was also the fact that my class timetable literally changed on a daily basis. Eventually, by the time 12th rolled around, I turned up to class with zero knowledge of what classes were happening, but one hundred percent confidence that I had everything I needed in my bagpack.

This was because I didn’t empty my bagpack ever.

I remember cleaning it out on the last day of Grade 12 and finding my first worksheet packed in somewhere. And some notes I had made the year before.

My mum never understood why I carried so much, but I carried it nonetheless. I carry that forward to today. I haven’t really unpacked my college bag since the semester started. I have 6 subjects, so I carry 6 books (even though I  write only in 2), one miscellaneous book, and a diary, for meetings.

The only thing I legitimately do every night is re-fill ink in my pen.

Maybe I should start packing my bag again. If nothing, it made me feel like I had accomplished something small. And I always headed into the day feeling prepared. Maybe that’s why my parents made me do it.